


A Toast to New Chapters

by augopher



Series: The Things We Make, We Make With Love [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff, Graduate Student Stiles Stilinski, Kid Fic, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski Speaks Polish, Stiles moves in with Derek, Stiles' grandparents are hippies, Stiles' name is NOT Genim, The Jeep needs repairs, family traditions, gender variant character, handmade gifts, stiles paints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holidays are hectic. There are gifts to be purchased, parties, and family-- What do you get when you throw in a Master's Thesis defense, graduate school commencement, an elementary school holiday festival, moving, and a broken down Jeep?</p><p>A whole lot of memories</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's Hard to Find Gifts, and Then There's Nearly Impossible to Find

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles' name has been changed from the Świętomierz (Święto) I had it previously to Mikołaj with his grandparents calling him Łajek. Just a heads up, to prevent confusion.
> 
> Please don't post my work Goodreads

A few weeks before Christmas, Stephen sat on the floor of his newly painted bedroom counting the money in his pink treasure chest, the one he’d received for Christmas the year before. Next to him on the carpet, the piles of coins had been separated by type, and the same had been done to the bills. A piece of paper with a list of items and their prices lay on the floor as well.

“Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine--One hundred.” He dropped all the coins into a bag and put the bills in after them. Then, he put the rest of his money back into the bank, returning it to its place on his bookshelf.

Of course he didn’t forget his shopping list. He would need it to make sure he bought enough to make everyone’s Christmas present. Since October, he’d been doing extra chores to earn more money, because this year, he wanted to buy all his gifts himself.

Before he went downstairs to ask if his dad or maybe Stiles could take him to the craft store in the morning, he wrinkled his nose. Phew, it really did smell in his room. Though the paint on the walls had been dry for a few days, the room still stunk. He didn’t care though, because it was finally the pink he’d asked for a while ago.

“Hey, Daddy?” He asked as he bounded down the stairs.

Derek looked up at him from where he sat on the couch. “What is it, Buddy?”

Stephen plopped down next to his father on the couch and sat cross legged on the adjacent cushion. “My room still smells funny. Can you use more of the air fresher?”

“Yeah. I’ll use some while you’re taking your shower. Which one do you want?”

“The one that smells like cookies.”

He chuckled. “Okay then. You were awfully quiet in there for a while. I thought you fell asleep.” He ruffled Stephen’s hair.

“No. I was counting my money.”

"My little miser.”

Stephen looked at him and rose an eyebrow at his father. God Lord, not only had the boy inherited the expressive things from him, but he’d managed to perfect the eyebrow sass. Inwardly, Derek groaned.

“What’s a miser?”

“Somebody who collects and spends as little money as possible.”

“I’m not collecting it. I was saving it.”

“For?”

“Christmas presents. Can we go to the craft store tomorrow?”

Derek thought for a minute. They didn’t have anything on the agenda for the next day other than dinner with Stiles. “Sure. Are you making presents?”

“Yep.”

“Already have ideas?”

Stephen nodded. “I looked them up on the IPad the other day.”

“Do you want to watch a movie together before bed?”

“Yeah. Let’s watch Wreck It Ralph. Okay?” He stood and walked towards the stairs.

Derek followed after him, stopping at the banister. “Hey Stevie, what did you want for Christmas? You didn’t give me a list like you usually do.”

“Well I want...but you’re not going to find one.”

_Great, he wants the new ‘it’ toy that is sold out everywhere. Oh well, I’ll do what I can._ “Try me.”

“I want a doll like Amy has, an American Girl doll.”

Derek nodded. “That shouldn’t be too hard. There’s a store online.”

“No,” Stephen shook his head, “I want a boy one. I want one like me, but we were looking through her, what do you call those magazines grown-ups shop from?”

“A catalog?”

“Yeah. She has one of those. Her birthday party next month is gonna be at Miss Liddie’s Tea Room. She’s having a doll tea party. I will be the only one there without one, and I want to be able to play dolls with her when we are over at her house with my own doll instead of hers. But Daddy, there are no boy dolls. I never see boy dolls in stores, but I want one. Amy’s looks like her. I want one that looks like me, and they don’t make those. Why don’t they make those?”

Derek scratched his chin. “Well, I imagine in some ways, it’s like your clothes, Stevie. Grown-ups are the ones who think they know what clothes kids want to wear so they market them to those groups of kids. Do you know what I mean when I say market?” Stephen shook his head. “It means that when a company is making a product, they decide who best they think would like the product, which is why you have girls’ clothes as dresses. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess when it comes to dolls, the companies that make them don’t think boys want to play with them.” Derek knew that was not the case, but he didn’t think he could explain sexism in the gendering of toys to his six year old without causing major confusion. “I will try my hardest to find one. Make sure you say that in your letter to Santa too. Maybe if we are both working on it, we’ll succeed. Okay?”

Stephen hugged him. “Try your best, Daddy. I’ll understand if you can’t find one. It’s okay if you can’t.” He continued upstairs.

While Stephen was in the shower, he pulled out his tablet and searched online, trying to see if his son’s words held weight. They did, and the more he dug, the less he found. Fifteen merchants made custom dolls ‘That look like your child!’ That would have been awesome if a single one of them made boy dolls…

And that was just the first two pages of results.

Derek didn’t even need them to dress the doll. He could find plenty of clothes that worked. After all, just about every merchant had dresses and skirts, things Stephen wore. He actually found himself growing angry. Why in the hell did no one make boy dolls past the baby dolls for infants?

Stephen had always been pretty open to his choice in toys. Legos? Great. Trucks? Even better. Play kitchen with food and fridge? That was the big present two years ago. He’d had a couple soft dolls when he was very small, but after about age three didn’t want to play with them anymore. Whatever. Derek was not going to tell his son he couldn’t play with something so long as it was age appropriate. He refused to be that kind of parent, and clearly had done well in that respect, given the way he encouraged Stephen’s gender expression.

He would do this though. He would find Stephen a doll like him.

 

 


	2. Blending of Traditions

“I want that one!” Stephen said, pointing at the tree in front of them. “It’s perfect.”

Derek found an attendant to cut and bind the tree for them.

“What name should I put it under?”

“Derek Hale.”

“Sure thing. It will be ready for purchase and loading in about a half an hour.”

Stephen grabbed his father’s hand. “My nose is cold, Daddy. Can we get hot chocolate?”

They'd been wandering the Christmas tree farm for over an hour to find THE tree, in Stephen's words. “Yeah. Aren’t you glad I told you to go change?” He raised an eyebrow at him. That morning, Stephen had come downstairs in a skirt, leggings, and his favorite pair of ballet flats. After a brief argument, the boy relented. Those were not appropriate for the day's activities

“I guess so.” He said, pulling his pink knit hat further down over his ears

Inside the country store, they all stood in line for warm drinks and treats. Derek snaked an arm around Stiles’ waist. “What would you like?”

“I’m thinking a cinnamon spice donut and hot cider. You?”

“Apple pie and coffee.”

Stephen tugged on Derek’s coat. “Can I have a cookie with my hot chocolate?”

“Sure thing, Buddy.” As the line crept forward, Derek kissed Stiles’ temple. “I am so excited to have you decorate the tree with us. I’m finally going to enjoy it for once.”

“I have a box of ornaments and decorations from my mom, could-”

“You should bring your decorations over, Stiles! We can make the house so pretty.”

Stiles grinned. “Well I guess that settles it. Can we stop and get my decorations on the way back to your place?”

Derek leaned in and whispered, “In a few weeks it’s your place too.”

“Oh believe me, I haven’t forgotten.” He tapped Derek on the nose. “Is someone a little excited?”

“You have no idea.” He kissed Stiles’ neck. “Besides, I was the worst when it came to decorations. We have just a small box of ornaments. What can I say? I’ve grown fond of the way the two of you deck the house for every holiday.”

Stiles gave him a soft smile, a light blush spreading across his cheeks.

In no time, the trio had their snacks and sat at a table on the heated patio. “Daddy, can I try some of your pie?”

Derek cut a piece and handed Stephen his fork. “It’s good isn’t it?”

“Mmhmm.”

Without even being prompted, Stiles did the same for his donut.

“Yummy.” Stephen broke little bites off his cookie to share. “It’s not as good as your snickerdoodles, Stiles.”

“No, it isn’t.” Derek agreed. “Maybe we should make some after we finish the tree tonight?”

“Yes!” He took out a travel sized coloring book and a small box of crayons from his purse to use while he ate, perfectly content to fill the pages with color and ignore everyone else.

“So,” Stiles wiped his mouth, “how is your gift mission coming along?”

Finishing a sip of his coffee, Derek shook his head. “Terribly. I have called so many places, searched online for hours, and I am getting nowhere. It should not be this hard. Do you remember those Cabbage Patch Dolls from when we were kids? Did you have one of those?”

Stiles burst out laughing. “Oh god yes. I did. Grandma Aggie got one for me, because she said I needed to play outside defined gender roles. I had no interest in it, other than sending him down the stairs to see if he could fly; he couldn't.” He finished off his cider. “You have one?”

“Yeah. Mom got me one, because Laura got one. The thing’s name was actually Derek believe it or not. Laura made me have tea parties with her. Yours?”

“Colbert or something. I renamed him Han Solo Jr.”

Derek choked on his coffee. “Of course you did. See though, they made them for boys and girls. I mean, I get it, the whole American Girl thing. carve out a niche market and create a product just for girls. That’s not the part that annoys me. They can do that for girls, but did every manufacturer have to stop making boy dolls? He just wants to be able to have his own to play with when he goes over to Amy’s. Frankly, since the majority of his friends are girls, I’m surprised it didn’t come up sooner.”

Stiles nodded and finished his donut, still chewing when he replied. “True. Good luck, Babe,” he said, patting Derek’s shoulder. He crumpled the wrapper his donut came in. “You think I can make it from here?” He asked miming shooting a basket.

“No.”

“Such confidence.” He shot and missed. “Fu...darn.”

Derek balled up his napkin and tossed it into the trash.

“Show off.”

“Remember, I played basketball and you didn’t.”

“Well you also played baseball too. Wow me with your physical prowess.”

Derek opened his mouth to make what he knew to be inappropriate innuendo, but Stephen filled the silence first.

“Daddy, Stiles, look at my picture. I finished it.” Stephen held up a near perfectly colored picture of a family of wolves.

“That’s beautiful, Buddy.”

He stowed his art supplies back in his bag. “Can we hang it on the fridge when we get home?”

“Absolutely. Now let’s go get our tree.”

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

After a bit of grunting and heavy lifting, Derek and Stiles managed to get the tree into the cast iron tree stand. They stepped back to admire their handiwork; Stiles dusted his hands on his jeans. “That is a mighty fine tree. You picked a good one, Stevie.” The boy beamed at him.

“Would have been easier if that Christmas tree stand didn’t weigh thirty pounds.” Derek said in reference to the cast iron stand in which their tree now rested, its ornate scroll work and the red paint contrasted nicely with the dark green of the tree.

Derek went to work unraveling the mess of LED lights he’d bought in haste last year because their old set had finally died. At least these were on separate circuits, and he didn’t have to check. every. single. bulb. anytime one went out. That was a process he never wanted to repeat again. He fed the string to Stiles, who began wrapping it around the tree, as Derek watched his boyfriend with caution. The guy could be quite clumsy, and Derek would have been lying if he’d said the sight of him on a step stool didn’t fill him with anxiety. The last thing he wanted was to spend the night in the ER because Stiles fell off the thing and broke his leg. Slowly, and surely the colorful strand of lights worked its way around the tree, and the room was alight in color.

Then, Stiles pulled a spool of garland from his large tote. “So Stevie, we hung these on the Christmas tree when I was a little kid. Do you think you can help me?”

Stephen’s eyes lit up as his little fingers fondled the cranberry colored wooden beads. “I’ve never seen wooden garland before. Hey, I remembered the word this time!”

Derek ruffled his hair. “Yes, you did.”

The clack of the beads as they clicked against one another filled the room as Stiles worked the garland in among the lights.

“What’s next?” Stiles turned to Derek.

“We just had lights and ornaments every year. Like I said earlier, lame. All this,” he said, pulling several elaborate ribbon garlands from the box, “is new to me.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of blending traditions. You want to help me do this part, D?”

Derek watched as Stiles fished a wooden ring from the box and then tied each of the ribbons to it. “What are you-”

“Watch and learn, Babe. Watch and learn,” Stiles said, climbing back onto the step stool. He slipped the ring over the top of the tree, letting the ribbons cascade down the boughs.

“I don’t under…” Derek trailed off as he watched Stiles drape the ribbon down the tree vertically, instead of winding it around the tree. Honestly, he’d never seen it done that way either. “Do you want me to…”

“You can help if that’s what you’re trying to ask. Stevie too.” In no time, the three of them had the ribbons zig-zagging down the tree.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” Stephen whispered. “Now time for ornaments.” From the little box Derek had pulled down from the attic, Stephen pulled out all the ornaments he’d made at Kraft Korner last year.

“Now don’t those look familiar?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna keep them forever.” One by one, he hung them on the tree before going back to grab more. “Here, Daddy," he said, his head still in the box, “these are yours.”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him. “Wolverine?”

“Shut up.” He smirked. “You have Batman; I have Wolverine.”

Stiles waited until Derek and Stephen had hung all their ornaments before retrieving his own. After all, he didn’t want to monopolize the tree.

“What is this?” Stephen asked, pulling a tangled mess of flowers, ribbon, and straw out of the second box of decorations.

“That’s called a pająki  I made that with my mom and Grandma Aggie when I was about your age. It’s a chandelier. In Poland, where my grandma and grandpa are from, they are supposed to symbolize spiderwebs.”

“Ew. I don’t like spiders.”

“I don’t really either, but they’re lucky in Poland.” He carefully untangled the strings containing flowers and decorative papers so that when he held the loop at the top, the tiers shook loose. “Does it look more like a chandelier now?”

“What’s a chandelier?”

“Think of it like a mobile,” Derek said. “Here, we can hang it on the hook the Valentine’s Day mobile hung.” He grabbed the step stool and positioned it under the hook by the stairs. He watched, once more, with bated breath as Stiles climbed up it.

“That’s so pretty. Where is Poland, Stiles?”

“It’s in Europe.”

“Like France?”

“Yeah.”

Stephen looked Stiles’ box of ornaments again. “Are these from Poland too?”

“Some are. Some of them I made with my mom, and some she made with her mom. Grandma Aggie’s tree has ornaments she made with her mother, and so on. In my family, it’s a tradition for daughters to create them with their mother’s, but since my mom didn’t have a daughter, we made them together. There a few in there that are really old, from my great-grandmother, and they’re very fragile. So be careful. Okay?”

As though every ornament was made of candy floss, Stephen carried them with great care over to Stiles. Even the wooden ones, and others like them that were anything but fragile all received the same care. He watched as the tree slowly filled up with more color and decor than theirs ever had. Finally, he fetched the last box from the tote, pulling off the lid where whatever was inside sat wrapped in fabric.

“That’s not an ornament, but it is really frag-” Stiles’s words died on his tongue as the largest matrushka opened in Stephen’s hand, catching him by surprise. Each piece of the dolls inside came loose, and he gasped, as the second smallest doll bounced off the couch, splitting in two as it was meant to do in order to reveal the tiniest doll in the center. Every piece before had landed safely on the cushion, even the center doll managed to hit the plush, but not this one. Stiles looked on in horror as both halves hit the hardwood floor and shattered.

He couldn’t watch, and instead screwed his eyes shut, unwilling to believe what he’d just watched, and also to steel his emotions. Before he could reopen them, he heard Stephen start crying.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t do it on purpose. I promise.”

He knelt in front of him, careful to avoid the shards of colorful porcelain on the floor. “I know you didn’t. Accidents happen. It’s okay.”

Stephen hugged him. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not. Okay?” He hugged back, willing the tears in his eyes to stay there. “What do you say we put that star on the top?” He ushered Stephen away from the broken pieces and led him to Derek’s box of Christmas decorations. “Do you put this on or does, Daddy?”

“That’s Daddy’s job.” Sniffling, Stephen handed the star to Derek and wiped his eyes.

Once he’d placed it safely on top of the tree, Derek turned to his son. He could feel the mood in the room had changed. “I know I said we’d make cookies, but it’s pretty late already. Would you be upset if we made them tomorrow morning after breakfast?”

“No, that’s okay. Is Stiles staying over?”

“Yeah I am.” Carefully, he collected the pieces of the broken doll from off the floor. “I’m just going to see if we have some glue that will fix this.” He knew fixing it would be futile. In his hands, he held not three or four large pieces that had once been a nesting doll, but dozens. No amount of glue would fix it.

“How about you go shower and get ready for bed? I’ll bring up your pajamas from the drier.”

In the kitchen, Stiles buried his head in his hands and let the tears flow freely. He wasn’t mad; he wasn’t. This just hurt. He should have told Stephen they came apart. It was stupid, this much attachment to a simple piece of decoration, but how could he explain it to a six year old, the history behind that set of six nesting dolls and what they meant to him?

After he’d placed the purple nightgown in the bathroom for Stephen, Derek retreated back downstairs to finish cleaning up, noticing that Stiles had left the other pieces of the matrushka set on the sofa where they’d fallen. One by one, he set the remaining ones up on the mantle, until just the center remained in his hand. It was at that point that he finally got a good look at any of them; a knot formed in his stomach. That tiny little doll looked different from the others. Instead of wearing a headscarf like the rest, this one wore an odd type of hat. Derek took note of the moles dotting the side of the doll’s face. This one, the center, was a little boy not women like the others. Then it dawned on him why Stiles would be so upset over a broken piece of decor, and he went in search of his boyfriend, only to find him crying at the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” he said gently, waiting for Stiles to lift his head, “the one that broke, that was your mom wasn’t it?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I watched her and Grandma paint that set. It took them days. They put so much care into each one. Then, they took it over to the middle school to fire them. My mom was one of the art teachers. Did I ever tell you that?”

“I remember her.”

“It’s...one of my favorite memories. And...and… after she died, my dad wasn’t too into Christmas for a long time, but I would set those up every year in my room.” He wiped his eyes. “I know it’s silly, to be crying over broken ceramic, but...I can’t fix it. I can’t. I, I…”

“Come here.” Derek opened his arms and pulled Stiles into a hug, letting the man break down into his shoulder. “It’s not silly. Prized possessions and heirlooms get that status for a reason. I would love to have mementos like these.”

They stood there in the kitchen, wrapped up in a tight embrace, until Stiles' eyes had cried himself dry.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matrushka is the Polish spelling of matryoshka, which are Russian nesting dolls


	3. School Projects: Sometimes They're Awesome and Sometimes They Suck the Life Out of You

Mrs. Chen walked to the front of the classroom. “Okay, the last thing we have to do today, is to start on our projects for the Holiday Festival. This year we will be showing how the holidays are celebrated around the world. Each one of you is going to pick a country, and we all have to have different ones. I don’t want everyone picking the same one.” She handed a stack of folders to the student in the first row. “Tomás, please take one and pass it back. Now, this will be your workbook for the unit. Inside, there are the sheets you’ll need to fill out. I also have a supply list for your parents and a suggestion sheet for ways to display your work. There is also an activity for you to do together. You can either make a craft or a treat to share at the festival, but if you come up with a unique idea, let me know. I am sure we can work something out.”

When the stack came to him, Stephen selected a pink folder and passed the rest to David who sat behind him. “Here you go.” He opened the packet and looked at all the pages, reading every sheet. Inside, he found sheets for a Holiday recipe, songs, greeting, and traditions. Towards the back was a writing assignment in which he would need to write out how Christmas or another holiday was celebrated in this country. He didn’t know any other holidays around Christmas time, and decided he’d ask his dad when he got home. Then, there was an art assignment. He raised his hand.

“Yes Stephen?”

“I have a question.”

“Okay. What’s your question?”

“Do we have to draw the celebration? Or can we make something else?”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Kinda, but it depends. If someone else picks my country, then I can draw a picture.” He knew just what country to pick, and really hoped no one else wanted it.

She passed around a clipboard. “Well when we start working after we pick our countries, I will come to your desk, and we can talk about it. How’s that sound?” He nodded. “Good. Now everyone, please write your choice next to your name. If, when it comes to you, someone has already taken that one, try something else. If you get stuck, raise your hand, and I will help you. If you need time to think, you can always pass the board and we’ll come back to you.”

Stephen waited, his little legs swinging back and forth, as the blue clipboard slowly made its way around the room. Every now and then, a hand shot in the air to ask Mrs. Chen how to spell something or for help. Finally, the thing landed on his desk, and he let out a sigh of relief to see his choice still available. With his purple pencil, he wrote out every letter carefully: P-O-L-A-N-D. He wrote the same on the front of his folder, along with his name.

“Did you get the one you wanted, Stevie?” Mrs. Chen asked, kneeling next to his desk. “Poland? Why Poland?”

“Because Stiles’ grandma and grandpa are from Poland. Last week, we decorated the Christmas tree, and he brought over a whole bunch of decorations. He had something called a pie.yon.key” Stephen carefully sounded out each syllable the way Stiles had said it. “That’s a mobile made with flowers, and paper, and ribbon. He said he made it with his mommy and grandma when he was a little boy. He also said they made ornaments when he was little, and his mommy made ornaments with her mommy, and then his grandma did the same with her mommy. He had these dolls called ma.tru.sh.ka.” Once again he made sure to get every syllable correct.

“You mean matryoshka?”

“No. Matrushka. That’s how Stiles says it. He made a set with them, and I was thinking, instead of drawing the celebration, maybe I could make a pająki with him and Daddy.”

“Well, I think that is a wonderful idea.” She stood and instructed them to go grab their assigned tablet from the charging station in order to start researching. From the computer at her desk, she could see a snapshot of each student’s screen. “Greg, that’s not school work. Turn the game off. Or the computer goes away.”

However, Stephen went straight to work looking for recipes, writing each one down in his folder, making sure to spell them carefully. He would ask Stiles about this thing called Wigilia when he saw him next.

This was going to be so much fun.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Stiles closed his laptop and stowed it safely in his backpack. Why had he decided to finish up his presentation at the library instead of at home? He’d be lot more comfortable if he were in pajamas doing this with maybe a beer in hand, or something.

Oh yeah, too many distractions at home. _Curse you XBOX._

He yawned. There was no way he was ready for the biggest presentation of his educational career thus far, not by a long shot. In fact, he could sum up how he felt about the thing in one word: Terrified.

It was not like he didn’t believe in his Master’s Thesis. He did, enormously so. Also, it was not as though public speaking gave him troubles. It didn’t; he was good at it, confident in his abilities, though rambling a little more than usual when nervous was a legitimate concern of his. It was just that...what if the approval committee hated it?

His advisor seemed pretty intrigued by his topic. Professor Deaton fully endorsed “Crafts In the Classroom Beyond Elementary School Help Foster Healthy Self-Esteem In Adolescents,” gave it a solid review before allowing Stiles to submit for thesis defense. But what if...what if?

As he stepped foot outside Argent Library, he groaned to find it raining and cold enough he could see his breath. Great, just great. Why couldn’t it be snow? Snow didn’t leave you wet until it melted, at which point he would be in the comfort of the Jeep, heat blowing full blast.

Rubbing his shoulders as he made the lonely trek from smack in the middle of the UC Beacon Hills campus to his assigned parking space way the hell over by the dorms, he rethought his decision to crash at his own place that night. It wouldn’t be his place for much longer, might as well stay in it a bit more often. Though he’d told Derek he needed to focus on his defense and that he would stay at his place this week, he really just wanted to crawl into bed beside him and crash until he needed to wake up tomorrow morning for his eleven a.m. class.

The fifteen minute walk to the Jeep had all but drained him, soaking him to the bone. Thank goodness for waterproof laptop sleeves. His teeth chattered as he shivered, and briefly, he contemplated stopping at the Starbucks off Hemlock Street. The closest coffee shop to campus, it was open until midnight, and he had….seventeen minutes. Yep, he’d need some coffee in order to make the drive home. Or at least something warm.

God, he hoped Daehler was not playing some fucking movie as loud as possible in the apartment next to him. The guy’s sound system had a way of making Stiles’ walls shake. The noise carrying through his apartment kept him awake some nights, even though Stiles was pretty sure their apartment floor plans were copies of each other. That meant the guy’s living room was as far away from Stiles’ bedroom as possible. _Ugh I can’t wait to move away from you._

Matt, or simply Daehler as Stiles preferred to call him, was a sixth year undergrad with no, literally no, ambitions to ever graduate and had lived next door to Stiles for three years now. The guy had already been living there when Stiles moved into the newly vacated second bedroom in Scott and Kira’s apartment after completing undergrad down in San Diego, ready to take a year off before graduate school to work his ass off and save as much money as possible so he didn’t have to work much through grad school. When Scott and Kira moved into their own place two years ago after getting married, Scott had lain a hand on Stiles’ shoulder in an action of quiet empathy. Scott hated the guy too. Hell, he’d lived next to him since sophomore year.

Stiles pulled under the awning in the Starbucks drive through to collect his small Cinnamon Americano. He really didn’t need caffeine at this hour, but ah fuck, yes he did. He had studying for finals to do as well. So long night of restful sleep.

He took a long drink from his mug and set it back in the cup holder. Emerson Avenue was all but empty at this hour of night, and as it gave way to Beacon Highway which ran through the Preserve and back towards town, he wished he’d left the library earlier. This road was notorious for collisions involving deer, and now with the rain, he just felt nervous driving it, that’s all.

Deer, as it turned out, were not going to be a problem tonight. Instead, he found the Jeep’s engine noise a little louder than usual. “Looks like another trip to the shop, Old Girl.” Not even a mile later, a burning smell filled his nostrils. The engine light came on, and instead of its standard and steady orange glow, the thing blinked at him. Wonderful.

There was no shoulder on the road at the moment, and though he knew he needed to turn off the car immediately, with no street lamps and poor visibility, he had to find a safe place to pull off the road before stopping. Mere feet from the turn off to Thompson Drive, Roscoe’s engine died. He only needed another twenty feet, but he couldn’t get it to turn over. All he heard was a short clack, and then nothing.  He hadn’t even driven half a mile since the engine light came on.

His head hit the steering wheel with a thud. After a moment or two, he pulled out his phone. He could call his dad, but the man was asleep, needing to be up at four to start his shift. Melissa was at work. Scott and Kira were out of town. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to call Derek. He just knew that coming to get him would require waking Stephen up, and well, Stiles would rather wake up his father than Stephen. Children needed more sleep than adults.

His apartment was still three miles away, and he’d be damn near hypothermic by the time he could walk there. Long since on a first name basis with the guys at Beacon Auto, he knew, that short of police intervention, there was no way he was getting a tow at this hour.

He called Derek anyway, and to his surprise, the man answered, his voice groggy, but he answered. “H’lo?”

“Hey, Babe. Sorry to wake you up, but-”

“S’okay. I fell asleep on the couch watching Sportscenter. I need to go up to bed anyway. Everything okay?”

“Look, I know it’s super late, and Stevie’s already in bed, but can you come get me? The Jeep died on Beacon Highway, right by Thompson Drive. I couldn’t even get it pulled off the road safely.” With his voice shaking from the cold, he knew Derek could hear his shivering on the other end of the line. “It’s raining, and I’m soaked from walking back to my car, but I don’t want to stay in the car because I’m sort of on the road, and visibility is shit, and-”

“Stiles.”

“Plus, I am super tired, and have homework still, and I’m stressed like you would not believe, and did I me-”

“Stiles, I’ll come get you. I’ll also call a tow truck. Boyd is still at his shop. They have a custom build emergency that the customer is picking up tomorrow. Do you have flares?”

“Y...ye...yes.” Damn it teeth. Stop chattering.

“Put them out. Okay? I don’t want you to get hit by another car while you wait. Boyd will probably get there before I do. I will meet you at the shop. Hold tight.”

Stiles dug around in the car for his umbrella; at least it would keep him from getting more wet. If that were possible. Once the flares were in place, he curled up in the Jeep, where the nice warm air was rapidly depleting, to wait

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Derek pulled up to Boyd Body and Repair, keeping the car running. In normal circumstances, he would not trust leaving Stephen in the car this late, but if Erica was his best friend, then Boyd came next. The point was, he trusted the place. Plus, several mechanics were outside. “Hey, Buddy?” He tapped Stephen’s foot.

“Daddy?”

“Sorry. I’m going to run inside and get Stiles. I’m leaving the car running so you stay warm. Leave the door locked, okay?”

“Whatever,” Stephen grumbled and went back to sleep.

Derek turned off the car, exited and restarted it again with the remote start. Inside, he found Stiles sitting, half asleep in one of the plastic chairs, his hand propping up his head, backpack clutched to his chest.

Stiles perked up a bit when he saw him and stood. “Thank you so much for coming to-”

Derek wrapped his arms around him, rubbing Stiles’ back to warm him up. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to. Did Boyd say when he’d be able to look at it?”

“Wednesday afternoon at the earliest.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How the hell am I getting to class?”

“You’re done at what, three tomorrow?” He asked, taking Stiles hand as they walked toward the door.

“Yeah.”

“Take me to work, and borrow my car. You’ll have to drop Stevie off, but at least you can get to class.”

Stiles kissed his cheek. “You’re wonderful. You know that?”

“You might have mentioned it.” Derek said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “We can figure something out for the days after that.”

Stiles sunk into the heated seat. “Did you warm this up for me?”

“I might have.” Derek smirked.

“You’re the best.” He sighed. “This is the worst timing ever.”

“Why were you at the library so late?”

“Too many distractions at my place, and fuck, I am so worried about this presentation. If they don’t pass me, I am stuck not graduating and have to pay for an additional class, just so I can revise the thing. I do not want to do that. My student loans are high enough as it is. Now I have to worry about the Jeep and how the hell I am going to be able to pay to get it fixed. I am on my last seven hundred dollars of savings. This is what I get for not working through the holidays.This is a fuc-” Stiles glanced in the back seat.

“He’s asleep. You’re fine.”

“This is a nightmare, Derek. Finals start next week, and agh! I just can’t handle this right now. I swear my blood pressure is through the roof. Through the freaking roof.” He gasped, trying to calm his breathing. “Like I don’t actually know how I am going to survive the next two weeks, D. I don’t. I have never felt this stressed in my life. Not even when I came out to my dad. I just… just…” He could feel his chest tightening. _No, no, no. Not a panic attack. Back, back I say._ Just when he thought he would succumb to the throes of panic, he felt a gentle squeeze on his knee.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay. What if...I paid for the repairs on your Jeep?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to. You need reliable transportation and something safe to drive. You certainly don’t need the added stress of worrying how you’ll pay to have it fixed.” He entwined their fingers and kissed his knuckles. “If it would make you feel better, you can pay me back.”

Stiles relented, and the two enjoyed the rest of the drive back to Derek’s house in companionable silence. Once there, they both fell into bed and were asleep almost as soon as their heads hit their pillows.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wigilia is Christmas Eve Dinner in Poland


	4. Not the Extravagant Gift Type of Person

In his playroom, outside of which he had made sure to hang the ‘Do Not Come In’ sign he’d made before, Stephen dabbed one pencil eraser in red paint, another in purple and made colorful dots to serve as a border around the canvas. As he pressed the last dab of paint onto the surface, he stepped back to look at his work. The two flamingos he’d made with his handprints and some extra lines looked great. They almost looked like they were kissing. It was done. Oh wait, he didn’t sign it. Stiles said artists always signed their work.

He loaded up a paintbrush with paint and printed his name as neatly as he could, before setting it on the floor to dry. On the newspaper, his latest painting joined three others. The flamingo painting was for Auntie Erica and Uncle Boyd. Next to it, sat his snowman painting for Scott and Kira. The painting he’d made for Mr. Slinksi and Miss Melissa was his favorite. He’d painted the canvas blue and punched out a bunch of butterflies from colorful paper, gluing them to the canvas.

Okay, that wasn’t true. The picture he made to hang in his father’s and Stiles’ bedroom would be his favorite once it dried and he could peel away the tape he’d lain down to keep from accidentally getting paint there. Before he shaped the tape into a heart, he made the canvas a nice, dark purple. Once that was dry and the tape was down, he made little swirls of blues, lighter purples, and pinks. That would like nice in their room.

He’d been hard at work for over a week making his Christmas presents for everyone. Upstairs, he had seven bracelets made from sparkly beads and ribbon tucked away in his secret hiding place in his closet. The back of that toy garbage truck was a great place to hide things. He still needed to finish the bracelets for the boys and put the finishing touches on the keychain he made for Stiles and the key to his new house. The bowl he made for Mr. Slinski needed another layer of tissue paper and glue. He loved papier mâché. He learned it last year, and it was really fun.

He made sure the paint on his hands was dry before he opened the door and checked to see if the coast was clear. Then, he sneaked down the hall the bathroom to wash up. This was going to be the best Christmas ever.

 

*    *   *   *   *

 

Stiles’ palms were still sweating as he finished answering a question from Dean Seaver, who was in charge of the school of art. To calm his thoughts for the next question, he took a sip from his bottle of water. He’d been talking for almost two hours, and the three dean panel showed no signs of letting up their questions anytime soon.

His least favorite professor, Dean Hermanson, cleared his throat. Seriously, Stiles had to fight tooth and nail for the B’s he’d received in both of the man’s classes. A notoriously hard grader, apparently A’s did not exist in his teaching lexicon, and to earn a B was quite a feat. But seriously, those B’s each semester cost him a 4.0. “Can you elaborate on the limitations of your project?”

Stiles took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Yes, I can. I was met with some pushback from several students who did not wish to participate. I found that reluctance from these students in embracing the crafts did hamper progress and a thoroughly effective evaluation. However, among the students who did participate in the tasks, and willingly at that, showed increased confidence in the classroom. I attributed this to a sense of pride and accomplishment over creating something beautiful.”

Dean Hermanson deliberated his answer before giving the nod to the next professor.

_Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Stiles, just keep swimming. You are doing great_. The rustling of paper, snapped him back to reality and out of his fifth mini pep talk that hour alone.

Dean Jimenez, head of the education department, read from her notes. “I see here, you’ve touched on your findings that the most resistance you found implementing this in your trial classroom successfully came from the male students. In your opinion, Mr. Stilinski, what contributed to this?”

_Uh duh. They’re boys. Boys are conditioned to hate crafts. Deep breath._ “The rigid definitions of masculinity in American society have created internalized beliefs that crafts, more specifically enjoying them, is inherently feminine and therefore, they, being male, should not excel at them, much less derive enjoyment from crafting. Fine art such as painting or sculpting do not seem to have as much stigma surrounding the participation in them, and are viewed as more acceptable forms of artistic expression.” _Nicely done. And you didn’t swear once. You’re improving young Padawan._

“Along those lines,” Dean Hermanson started out of turn (Then again, Stiles was going for an M.S. in Counselling Psychology, and the man lead the department), “looking back, what might you have done differently?”

Stiles scratched his eyebrow. _Think, think, think._ “That, Dean Hermanson, is a good question. Perhaps, after identifying hesitant students, separating the class into different groups based on activity would have been more beneficial. Having one track more focused on crafts and another more art based, painting, drawing, sculpting, and etc. would have been more successful. Simply having choices could have a more positive impact.” He took a deep breath. God, he hoped the questions would end soon. His brain was fried, utterly friend. He needed a drink, and fully intended to order one when Derek picked him up for lunch. He missed having a car.

_Rest in Peace Roscoe._ Boyd called that morning to break the tragic news that his beloved Jeep had blown the head gasket, and what started as a slow external oil leak, had turned into a full rupture at some point during the day. By the time Stiles made it to Starbucks, the engine was on his way to seizing. There would be no salvaging the engine; a new one was needed. Boyd had called around, and the best price he could find on a new one was $1500 dollars, but the thing was in Virginia and required an extra $200 in shipping costs. His guess on the labor required was about six hours, but was willing to cut Stiles a deal on that, citing the friends and family discount, that he, as owner, was fully authorized to give. Just replacing the engine alone would be around $2500. Then, he dealt the death knell on poor Roscoe: Major rust damage to the frame compromising structural integrity. He strongly advised fixing it, but that for the time being, the Jeep was still drivable once it received a new engine.

After careful thought, and a long discussion with his dad as he drove him to his presentation that morning, they both decided it was probably for the best that they put poor Roscoe out to pasture, and by pasture, they meant scrapheap. John did not want his only child driving around in a ticking time bomb/potential death trap. Hell, Stiles didn’t want to drive around in one either, much less put Stephen in that danger when he took him places. John said as a graduation present, he would help Stiles with a down payment on a new one.

Stiles did not know how to tell his dad that, no, he did not want him doing that. In normal counties, being Sheriff might have paid well, Beacon County was strapped for cash, and he knew his dad really couldn’t give him thousands of dollars easily. Plus, the thought of a car payment hanging over his head did not appeal to him. Maybe he could find a decent used car for less than a grand. Oh, who the hell was he kidding?

“Thank you, Mr. Stilinski. We’d like to deliberate for a bit. If we feel cannot make a determination today, roughly within half an hour to an hour, we will dismiss  you. Should that be the case, expect a result within a week. You are dismissed.”

“Understood, Sir. Thank you, Deans Jimenez, Hermanson, and Seaver, for your time. I look forward to your conclusion.”

Stepping outside of the auditorium, things in hand, he smiled when he saw Derek sitting on a bench. Since he was on the phone, Stiles kept his distance to give him some privacy. For all he knew, it was a client from work.

“Are you sure it is no trouble to do this and have it ready for him before you arrive in town?” Derek nodded. “Thank you so much, Aggie. Uh huh. You too. Oh I will.” He ended the call and glanced up to see Stiles waiting by the auditorium door. He beckoned him over and handed him a cup of coffee. “It’s probably cold by now.”

“You been here long?” Stiles asked, kissing Derek’s cheek.

Derek checked his watch. “About forty-five minutes or so.”

He frowned. “Well then I have bad news, because I need to stay, at most, another hour while they think it over.” He took a drink. “Nope, still warm. Thank you.”

Derek patted the seat next to him. “You look nice.”

“I feel ridiculous. This is a Goodwill suit. I wish I had actual adult clothes.” He leaned his head onto Derek’s shoulder.

“You still look nice. How’d it go?”

Stiles sighed. “Good, I think. I managed to stick to my prepared notes. No rambling. I even think my answers to their questions, all thirty-seven of them were solid. I will feel terrible if my grandparents fly all the way here only for me to not graduate. I even found someone to give me two extra tickets to commencement so everyone could come. And, I can fail every single one of my finals and still have the grades required to pass. Everything, and I mean everything, hinges on this decision. Ugh, I think I’m going to throw up.” He leaned forward and put his head between his knees.

Derek rubbed the back of Stiles’ neck. “You’re going to pass. I know it.”

“You sound so sure,” Stiles whined, his words muffled.

“You’re smart, passionate, and have worked so hard on this.”

“That doesn’t always equal an approval.” He sat up and looked up at the ceiling.

Derek cupped his chin and turned his face towards him, taking Stiles’ face in his hands. He gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Well, I believe in you. So you’re going to pass, and then we are going to go celebrate with a nice lunch and drinks. Erica has Stephen until nine. Try to relax. Okay?”

Stiles nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket and shook it at Derek. “Words with Friends while we wait?”

Derek smiled, and they traded turns back and forth for about forty minutes until he heard the door to the auditorium open. He tapped Stiles’ knee and pointed to the the door. “You got this.” He gave Stiles’ hand a gentle squeeze, watching him as he walked back into the room.

Despite the fact, he’d been sitting on that bench for a couple hours now, he was far from irritated. In fact, his afternoon had been extremely productive. For one, he actually found a merchant who specialized in transforming girl dolls into boys. After a lengthy conversation in which he described Stephen’s features, she stated that yes, she had an American Girl doll available with green eyes and a medium skin tone. She also assured him that she had a wig in stock that would be the right color, and though it was not styled exactly the way Derek described Stephen’s hair, it was, unmistakably, a boy’s wig. He informed her, that she need not outfit him, as he’d found those on his own. He did not want to get into that information with a stranger. The best part, was that since he was willing to pay extra, she could rush it in time for Christmas.

As for the conversation with Stiles’ grandmother? Let’s just say, he was proud of his originality when it came to the present.

About five minutes later, Stiles walked out of the room with a face splitting grin on his face. Good news.

“Woohoo! I passed!”

Derek pulled him into a hug, the kind that lifted him off his feet, and spun Stiles around. “I knew you would.”

“Now, let’s go get that drink!”

 

*   *   *   *   *  

 

“Oh my god! This is the best tasting burger I’ve ever had in my life.” Stiles groaned as he bit into his lunch. The noises he made were practically indecent as he devoured the thing. “Who in the hell thought to make ginger coleslaw and add it to a burger? Don’t answer that, Babe. It was rhetorical.”

Derek shook his head, grinning into his beer glass.

“What?”

“Planning on swallowing between bites?”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him. “Was that...was that innuendo? Anyway. How did I not know about this place?”

“That’s the point about hole in the wall places. No one really knows about them except from a friend of a friend and so on. Boyd told me about the place. The guys at the shop like to come here for happy hour.”

“I can see why. Fifty two beers on tap. You know,” he said, taking a long and satisfied drink of his IPA, “it’s probably a good thing I didn’t know about this place earlier. I would have gone broke. Scott does not appreciate a good beer, or good coffee for that matter.”

“So, did you hear back about your car?”

Stiles whined. “Engine’s blown, needs a new one, and apparently, major chassis rust. Dad and I decided not to get her fixed, as much as that hurts to admit. It’s not really safe.”

“I see.” Derek dabbed his french fries in mustard.

“I will never understand how someone can hate ketchup.”

He rolled his eyes. “So what are you going to do?”

“About my car? Dad wants to give me a down payment for one as a graduation gift.” Stiles poked a fry in ketchup, but didn’t eat it.

“And...you don’t want him to?” Derek had to admit, he was getting really good at reading Stiles. _The fuck, Derek? You better be good at it by now. You’ve only been dating for a year. He’s moving in with you in two weeks._

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t have the money to do it. He should be saving that for his and Melissa’s wedding.”

Derek cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s official now?”

“No. Well, you’re not supposed to know about that yet. I know because I helped him pick out the ring. Scott doesn’t even know. He’s taking her to San Francisco for New Year’s.”

Derek mimed zipping his lips. “So, say he did have the money, would you want him doing that?”

Stiles shrugged. “Not really. You have the money to pay to fix the Jeep, and I didn’t want you doing that either. It’s...Roscoe was my mom’s car, right? I paid for the general upkeep by myself, save a few major repairs and the new tires my dad bought for high school graduation. I paid for college by myself. Well, there was a little college fund, but to be honest, Mom was the one who was better with money, and after she died, Dad just didn’t keep up with it the way she did. It paid for two years of undergrad. The rest was me busting my ass for scholarships, working through the summers, waiting tables, holiday jobs, students loans. I did that, me. The only reason I haven’t worked this year had to do with the stress of finishing my thesis. Gifts that expensive...I don’t know. Hell, I would probably faint if someone bought me a car.” He pointed at Derek. “Do not buy me a car.”

How the hell did Stiles know Derek had been circulating that idea around in his head? Besides, it wasn’t like he had been thinking of something extravagant like a Porsche. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Would you refuse a gift like that if someone did?”

“Do NOT buy me a car, D.”

“I have no intentions of it. I promise.” Okay, so minor lie, but Derek didn’t feel like fighting him on the issue. He wasn’t trying to buy affection or anything like that. He just wanted Stiles to have something dependable and safe to drive.

 

 


	5. Face Paint and Plush Foxes

Stephen finished placing the cookies in the travel tote. “Stiles, how do you say these again?” He asked, looking over to where Stiles packed up the recipe sheets and card to identify them.

“Pierniczki.”

“Peer-neech-kee?”

“Very good. That means gingerbread. You see, these, the kind we’ve made are normally a treat for Mikołajki. That’s St. Nicholas Day, but that was earlier in the month.”

“Oh. So regular pierniczki don’t have the chocolate on them?”

“Nope. Though Grandma Aggie likes to make snowflake shaped ones and use white frosting.”

Stephen looked at the printouts in the red folder on the table. He helped Stiles make them the night before. He picked out what pictures to use. He liked the one where he and his dad were decorating the cookies best. “What does this part say?”

“Oh. That’s just a bit about potential food allergies. We used flour, and eggs, and butter, which has milk. Plus, we have peanuts in the house. I just don’t want anyone to get sick.”

“Daddy’s allergic to cats and dust. It’s why he cleans so much.”

From the living room, Derek laughed. “Yeah, and because I like a clean house.” How the hell was he supposed to pack this thing up? While the cookies baked the night before, and despite his protests that he was not crafty (Had they forgotten Glittergate already?), Stiles roped him into helping them make a tiny pająki to hang from this… candle holder? Hell if Derek knew what its intended purpose was. As his son and boyfriend crafted mini flowers from paper and strung them together, Derek’s sole job had been to cut the coffee straws into smaller pieces and thread string through them. Stephen was really proud of it, and Derek had to admit, that even though he had not one artistic bone in his body, he did have fun making things with the two of them.

Finally, he managed to get the thing into a box without crushing it. “You two ready to go?”

“Oh! I forgot my headband! I’ll be right back.” Stephen dashed up the stairs.

“Somebody’s excited.” Stiles laughed.

“Oh yeah. He’s been talking about this festival non-stop.” He watched Stiles pull out his phone after it chirped. The corners of Stiles’ mouth turned upward as he read. “Good  news?”

“Oh yeah. Grades just posted.”

“And?”

Stiles poked around on the screen. “So close. So close. I blame Dean Hermanson.”

“Bad?”

“No, 4.0 this semester. I blame him for not awarding A’s. My final GPA is 3.88.”

“Stiles, that’s really good. Is that honors or something?”

“Graduate school doesn’t award honors, which is too bad.”

Derek kissed his forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

Stiles pecked him on the mouth. “Thanks.”

“Ew! No kissing.” Stephen groaned, walking into the living room with his eyes covered.

In retaliation, Derek ruffled his son’s hair.

“Hey! You messed up my headband.”

“No I didn’t. It looks fine. Come on, or we’re going to be late.” Thankfully, he’d already loaded up the car with the rest of Stephen’s display.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Willow Grove Academy’s gymnasium had exploded in color. Around the perimeter, sat all of Stephen’s classmates’ projects. “This way, Daddy!” Stephen tugged on Derek’s hand, dragging him to the back corner with poor Stiles lagging behind as he carried the remainder of the supplies.

“Is this your spot?”

“Duh, Daddy. It has my name on the table.” Stephen rolled his eyes.

Derek grabbed the display board from Stiles and set it up on the table, opening the sides so all three panels were visible. Noticing several of the projects on the way in, he could see which kids had their parents doing most of the work, and which kids probably left it to the last minute.

Stephen used the pair of tongs to arrange the pierniczki on the plate. Then, he took the printouts from their folder and slipped them into the clear envelope on his board right under the ‘Please: Take one’ tag he’d made himself. Since it was fragile, he let Stiles set up the miniature pająki on the table. The finishing touch was his project notebook he’d made. With each page in a protective sleeve and the front of the binder see-through, everyone could see all the pretty pictures he’d found, even the one of their Christmas tree and Stiles’ matrushka display on the mantle.

“Looks really good, Buddy.”

“Thanks, Daddy, and thank you, Stiles. Now, let’s go look at all the pretty things!” Walking between them, he grabbed their hands, regaling them with stories about his classmates and their projects. “That’s Sophia’s project. She sits next to me. She really wanted to learn about Italy, but David picked it first.”

“Yeah?”

“She was really upset. Oh, and that’s my friend Hava’s over there. Let me show you! Look, she picked Israel, because she is Jewish. That means her family doesn’t celebrate Christmas. They have a holiday called Chanukah instead.”

“Do they now?” Derek feigned ignorance on the holiday for Stephen’s sake.

“Yeah. She showed me this game they play called a dreidel. Oh, there it is. See? You pick a coin and put it in the middle. Well everybody does, and then you spin. Hava said there’s a song, but I can’t remember how it goes.” He picked up the small dreidel and spun it. When it stopped spinning, he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked.

“I can’t remember the name of this letter, the one that looks like a crown, but it means I would put more coins in. When all the coins are gone, whoever has the most wins.” He took a cookie for each of them. “Hey, I can’t say this word.” He held up the recipe sheet.

“Rugelach.” Stiles said between bites.

“These are yummy. Come on, let’s go play games!” He walked swinging his arms, and therefore, swinging Derek’s and Stiles’ arms as well. They stopped at the bean bag toss game. “Look, Stiles. There’s a fox plushie.”

Stiles grinned. “I am not good at this game. Maybe you should try.”

“Yeah. I think so. We need tickets.”

At the ticket booth nearby, he opened his purse to pull out his wallet, but Derek stopped him. “That’s okay, Buddy. I’ll buy your tickets.”

“But I have my own money.”

“Let’s call it a reward for your hard work on your project. Okay?” He handed the cashier a twenty.

Newly purchased ticket in hand, Stephen paid the attendant and wound-up to throw the first bean bag. He missed, and he missed the second time as well. Tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, he wound up-- He missed.

“That’s okay, Stevie. Good try though.” Stiles said.

“Nope. Here, Daddy.” He paid another ticket. “You try this time.”

Derek gave the throw like forty percent power and watched as the beanbag sailed through the smallest hole in the game.

“Yay! You did it!”

“Did you want the fox?” He asked his son who nodded emphatically.

Stephen took the toy and gave it to Stiles. “Here you go, Stiles. This is for you. I know foxes are your favorites.”

“Thank you.” Stiles turned to Derek and whispered, “Thank you for winning it for me, Babe.”

Before he had a chance to give a response, Stephen interrupted his thoughts.

“Daddy, can I get my face painted?”

Derek smiled. “Sure. Do you both want something to eat? I can get that while you wait in line.”

Stiles yawned. “A Coke and some of that cinnamon caramel corn sounds fantastic.”

“Stevie?”

“A pink cupcake and some apple juice.”

“And if they don’t have pink?”

“Then any color is fine.” Stephen tugged Stiles towards the face painting booth.

As he stood in line, Derek felt someone tap his shoulder. When he turned around, he found himself face to face with a few women. He recognized two of them from the one PTA meeting he had attended so far.

“That was so sweet how you won that toy for your...child.” The first woman, the blonde one said, unsure of how to address Stephen. Derek didn’t care for blondes. Kate (Ugh even saying her name made bile rise in his throat) had been blonde, put him off blondes for life.

“Thanks.” He tried not to let his discomfort show when her friend squeezed his bicep.

“So strong.”

“Could you let go of my arm please? Thank you.”

“Well this might be a bit forward, but since I don’t see a ring, I’m going to go for it. Here’s my number.” She tried to hand him a slip of paper.

“Just because I’m not married, doesn’t mean I’m available.” He turned around and placed his order, handing the cashier ten dollars. He could hear them talking quietly.

“Well maybe you’re not his type. Let me try.”

Derek rolled his eyes, and the cashier gave him a sympathetic grin. He did not get angry; he knew women had to deal with this way worse than he ever would. Still doesn’t mean he liked it. Plus, he’d never pursued anyone in his life, and wow, what did that say about him? Well, it said he let them come to him. _No, it says, Derek, that you have been burned before._ Not that any of that mattered. He was not available.

“Here you are, Sir.” She handed him a juice box and two cans of soda. Then, he carefully balanced the plate with the cupcake on top of his funnel cake, and stuck the bag of popcorn between his teeth.

“Hungry man.”

Were they following him? Yes, indeed they were. “It’s not all for me.” He grumbled as best as he could with his teeth holding tight to Stiles’ popcorn.

“So since you’re not married...separated?”

“Please leave me alone.” Where the hell was the face painting booth?

“Are redheads more your type? Because Janine here, just is a sucker for men a little on the scruffy side.”

“I’m really not interested...in any of you.” Oh thank God. He found it. Despite his assertion that he did not want their attention, they persisted. _That’s it; from now on I am intervening every time I see a woman being harassed by a guy who won’t take the hint._

He pushed his way towards where he found Stiles waiting as the artist put the finishing touches on Stephen’s paint, all the while trying to ignore the women several steps behind him. Stiles grinned when he saw him, and given Derek’s ‘shoot me’ expression, seemed to take the hint. His boyfriend took the bag of popcorn from his teeth.

“Thanks, Babe.” He kissed Derek’s cheek. “You’re the best.” He reached in Derek’s jacket pocket for his can of Coke.

“You’re welcome.” His hand hidden from view, he pointed behind him.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”

Derek groaned.

“Don’t worry; I got this.” Stiles winked, and slipped an arm around Derek’s waist, a menacing grin spreading across his face when he heard their collective ‘Oh, why are the hot ones always gay?’ from behind them.

“I’m a dragon, Daddy! A pink one.”

“Very nice. They only had snowflake cupcakes.”

Stephen didn’t seem to mind as he ate the baked good before dragging him and Stiles off to see something else soon after. By the time came for them to leave, Derek was sure his arm would be pulled from it’s socket.

 

 


	6. When One Door Closes, You Finally Move Away From Your Annoying Neighbor

“Can you carry this for me, Stevie?” Stiles asked, setting a box DVD’s in his arms. “Is that too heavy?”

“No, I got it.” He said, carrying out the door and to the elevator.

Slowly, but surely they had moved the boxes of Stiles’ things to the moving truck. Scott and Kira had come over the night before to help him pack, and now his apartment was damn near empty. An hour ago, he’d passed off his fabulous IKEA dresser, nightstand, and bed to someone who saw his ad on Craigslist. As such, he was now $200 richer. He and Derek both decided that his kitchen table would be a good fit in the area of Stephen’s playroom dedicated to crafts and art. Stiles was glad he’d finally have a decent place to paint, because crowding over by the living room window for natural light was a pain in the ass.

His couch and coffee table had been sold two days ago. He had no attachment to any furniture except the bookcase he’d taken from his bedroom when he moved out of his dad’s house. That was a keeper, and to be honest, Stiles was pretty sure it was an antique. All that remained now was a stack of boxes.

He hefted a box of cookbooks into his arms and out to the truck.

“How much is left up there?” Derek asked; he’d been in charge of making everything fit in the small truck they’d rented so that they only needed to make one trip.

“About eight boxes. Most of them books.”

Four more trips upstairs and the place was empty. Derek drove the truck and Stephen back to the house to unpack, while Scott stayed behind to help Stiles clean.

“So how does it feel?”

“What?”

“Moving in with Derek? That’s a big step. I mean I was terrified when Kira and I moved in together. I thought for sure I would fuck things up, and that's after we'd been dating for four years."

"So you think I'm rushing into this?"

Scott shook his head and rinsed the sponge in the bucket of cleaner, before resuming his task of cleaning the inside of the fridge.  "Maybe anyone else, yeah, but you two...  Just work.  That doesn't mean it isn't a little scary."

Stiles weighed Scott's words. "That's true. No, I'm not... I’m excited, but not scared."

"Yeah," he laughed, "excited for more sex and to finally move away from Daehler."

"Definitely the second part of that.  As for the first bit, not sure how much that will increase. Stephen's bedroom door is like ten feet from ours."

Scott drew his eyebrows together. "I don't think I follow. I mean, you close your door right? "

Stiles rolled his eyes and swept dirt into a pile. “I know it's been a while since we lived together, but you can't possibly have forgotten-"

Realization dawned on him, and his cheeks turned pink. "Oh yeah, you're not exactly... quiet."

"Ding, ding. Johnny, show him what he's won." Stiles dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash and started the vacuum.

The sun had already set in the sky by the time Stiles' apartment was sufficiently cleaned. Though he had to split it three ways, he wanted as much of that security deposit back as possible. So what if he hadn't paid into it at the beginning. Scott and Kira's first roommate had high tailed it to Europe somewhere and voluntarily forfeited his portion. The point was, Stiles needed that money. His Christmas list had been neglected so far, and the clock was ticking.

 

*   *   *   *   *

  


When Stiles walked through Derek’s fron...no wait, his front door, hanging Derek’s keys on the hook, he found his boyfriend waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Sorry that took so long. I just wanted to get it finished so I can do a walkthrough with the landlord tomorrow and be done with that chapter of my life.” He rubbed his shoulders. “Smells good.”

“I waited for you, but Stevie ate already. He wanted chicken nuggets. This is almost finished.”

Stiles listened to the overall quietness of the house. The radio underneath the cabinet above the counter played soft music, but otherwise, the place was silent. “Stevie in bed?”

“Yeah. He was working on his Christmas presents for a while, but went to bed about half an hour ago.”

Stiles hopped up and sat on an empty patch of kitchen counter, leaning his head back to enjoy sitting. The drive home had only served to remind him how tired he was. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“I made carbonara.”

“From scratch?” Stiles gave him a hopeful smile, his eyes wide and pleading.

Derek held a spoonful of sauce up to Stiles’ lips. “It’s hot.” He tried not to blush at the way his boyfriend blew on the sauce. Lips that sinful should be illegal.

“Mmm.” He set the spoon down, tugging Derek towards him to slot in between his legs, and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck. “Such a good cook.” He kissed the tip of Derek’s nose.

Derek nuzzled at Stiles’ neck. “Welcome home.”

“Feels nice.” He could feel Derek smiling against his skin.

“Yeah.” Derek moved to pull garlic bread from the oven, motioning for Stiles to have a seat as he dished up two plates of pasta and poured a couple glasses of wine. “I meant to get champagne, but I sort of forgot. So I hope you like Riesling. It was the only wine I had.” He said, blushing.

“I don’t mind it. As far as wine goes, so long as it’s not super sweet or that white zinfandel crap I’m game.”

Derek pulled out the chair at the head of the table and took a seat closer to Stiles than he usually sat. As they ate, he found himself rubbing the back of Stiles’ hand as he held it, unable to hide the soft smile on his face.

“What?” Stiles asked in between sips of his wine.

He shook his head. “Nothing, just happy.”

“Me too.”

Derek took a bite of garlic bread. “So, Boyd helped me put your bookcase into our room. I moved the chairs a bit and made a little reading area. It looks nice. Maybe we could fill it with books from both of us. I consolidated my clothes into four drawers so you get three more, but I was also thinking that you might like a dresser of your own. We could go shopping for that if you want sometime this week.”

“I can make do with what we have right now. Let’s just focus on the party for now.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah, I am so glad I decided to order dinner from a caterer. I can’t imagine the stress of cooking for all those people.”

“It’s only fifteen people or so, not fifty.”

“Even still.”

“Though I am like ninety percent sure Grandma Aggie intends to bring a couple dishes if that’s o-”

“It’s your home now too, and that means it’s also your Christmas party. You don't have to get approval for your grandmother bringing food too.” He kissed Stiles’ knuckles. “What is she making?”

“Well definitely her pierogi. They’re amazing. She fills them with mushrooms and pot cheese, which is like cottage cheese with less moisture. I think she said something about strucla z makiem.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“It’s um, a sweetened yeast bread filled with poppy seeds. It’s a traditional Christmas Eve dish.”

“Sounds delicious.” They finished their meal in a companionable silence, and once Derek stowed the leftovers in the fridge, left the rest of the clean-up for the moment, seeking out the refuge of a soft bed after the long day of hard work.

 

 


	7. How to Fill the Hole in Your Heart

A towel draped over his head as he exited the bathroom, Derek walked blindly towards the bed and where he’d lain out his clothes for their Christmas Eve get together. He was too distracted while drying his hair and walked right into Stiles, knocking him onto the bed. When he lifted the towel from his face, he looked like a contrite puppy. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles laughed. “It’s okay. Now, had I fallen on the floor, then you could be sorry.” He eyed Derek’s naked torso, body covered only by the towel around his waist. “Dressed like that, you can knock me over any time.” He watched a blush spread across Derek’s shoulders and up his face. Standing, he patted his boyfriend’s face and finished getting dressed. He couldn’t attend a fancy dinner party in an undershirt.

Derek tried not to pay attention to the way Stiles’ long fingers worked as they fastened the buttons on his fitted black dress shirt, to no avail. If the man’s lips were sinful, then his hands were downright magic. Then those hands secured a black belt around his waist, and he gave a soft chuckle at the graphite colored Batman belt buckle. Only Stiles would insist that a superhero belt was suitable for semi-formal occasions. He finished the ensemble with a green and grey plaid bowtie.

“Take a picture; it will last longer.”

Derek tossed his hair towel at him. “Shush. I’m admiring my boyfriend’s attractiveness, so sue me.”

Stiles cocked his head at him. “Oh like you won’t show me up with your expertly tailored finery.”

Derek kissed his forehead. “Doesn’t mean you don’t look good.” He pulled on his red dress shirt, making quick work of the buttons and tucked it into his grey dress pants.

“And suspenders! Really? Not a belt like a normal hot guy?”

Standing in front of the mirror, he moved the ends of his glen plaid necktie up and over each other in practiced fashion. “What? All my dress pants are intended to be worn with suspenders. I have to wear a full suit to work. Give me a break.” He shook his head, lifting the matching vest off the bed. Two pieces out of a three piece suit weren’t bad. There was no way he was wearing that stupid jacket. He hated suit jackets; they were always too warm, and no amount of tailoring ever made them fit as comfortably as he’d like. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbow.

“Your tie is crooked,” Stiles said as he hugged him from behind, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. He took a sharp intake of breath. “Fuck, you look hot. If I could have you dress like this all the time, I would. That, or be naked. Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

A soft knock sounded at the door to their room. “Daddy, Stiles, can I come in?”

“Yeah, Buddy. What is it?”

Stephen walked into the room. “I need help with my dress.” He turned around. “I can’t zip it.”

Derek pulled the zipper the rest of the way up. “That’s a pretty dress,” he said of Stephen’s jacquard dress. The silver fabric wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as he’d seen on some children’s holiday dresses. “Do you have a sweater to wear with this? Your arms might get cold.”

“Uh huh. A red one. Thanks Daddy.” He shuffled out of the room.

As the two of them finished getting ready, Derek couldn’t help but chuckle at the fact that all three of them coordinated nicely, and he wondered if that was purely accidental.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Derek couldn’t remember the last time his house had been so full of people; he wondered if it had ever been. The painful sting of losing his family had kept him so closed off for years. Erica and Boyd would come over a couple times a month, and occasionally the Gutierrez's would join them for dinner just as Derek and Stephen joined them at their house across the street. Now, as he stared at the way eighteen people milled about the downstairs amidst the Christmas music playing in the background, he wondered why he’d held off doing this for so long.

When Aggie and Mikołaj, oh wait, Aggie said they could call him Mike, arrived, he blushed when she’d asked with astonishment if it was just him and Stephen that lived there. He corrected her with pride and said that all three of them lived there now. He’d purchased the home five years ago, because he loved the neighborhood, not because he thought the two of them needed five bedrooms. It was the only home for sale, and it was big enough that Derek wouldn’t need to worry about finding a larger one as Stephen grew. Derek had only lived in one home growing up, well until he moved with Laura after the fire. It was beneficial for children to have stability like that, or at least, that’s what he felt. He didn't know if there was any truth to the sentiment.

He felt a hand slip into his. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking. The house has never had so many people in it.”

Stiles gave his hand a firm squeeze. “Is it too much? You can duck upstairs for a few minutes if you need to. I can hold down the fort.”

“No, it’s nice. It feels right.” He kissed Stiles temple and pulled him to the kitchen. He hadn’t forgotten champagne this time. “You want a glass?” He gestured to the magnum on the counter.

“I’d love one.” Stiles read the label as Derek poured. “Oooh fancy.”

“Not really. It’s not like a Bollinger or anything. They were on sale for thirty-five each. I thought...I mean I could afford the high end stuff, but it seemed needless really. I don’t think anyone here needs or cares if I serve three hundred dollar champagne. I know I don’t. This one was rated pretty high for the price.”

Stiles raised his glass.

“To what should we toast?”

Stiles thought for a minute. “New chapters?”

“To new chapters.” Derek clinked their glasses, and gave Stiles a soft kiss on the mouth even though he longed to kiss him senseless, and had ever since he watched him dress earlier. Though they were alone in the kitchen for the moment, he knew that could change, and he had no desire to be caught making out by anyone.

However, Stiles, it seemed was not entirely satisfied with such an innocent kiss. He ran a thumb against Derek’s cheek, tracing his boyfriend’s lower lip with his tongue. “I love you.”

Stiles words vibrated against Derek’s skin, and for a brief moment, all he could do was nod in response until he caught his breath. “Love you too.” At the song change, he broke free from their kiss, and took Stiles' hand.

“What are-” His confusion disappeared when Derek’s free hand landed on his waist, pulling him close. They swayed back and forth in the empty kitchen, Derek occasionally pushing him out to spin him, before bringing Stiles back towards him, all the while humming along to the music. Their impromptu dance was cut short when someone cleared their throat.

“Hey, sorry guys, but a few people are taking off.” Scott said from the archway.

So, they joined the rest of their guests in the living room where Isaac and his girlfriend, Allison (Whose family by the way, helped to found the university) were fastening their coats. “Hey sorry to cut out so soon, but we have a red-eye to Paris and the flight leaves from Tahoe Reno. Need to get going or we’ll miss it.”

Derek shook his hand. “Thanks for coming. Oh wait. I have…” He walked over to the mantle and found their card.

“You didn’t have to get us anything. We didn’t bring-”

“You came to the party. And don’t worry, it’s just a gift card.” He gave Allison a hug and turned to the other couple of guests ready to leave.

“Amy, you need to open your present.” Stephen said, handing her a small box.

She bounced on her toes, her fingers working at the paper. She pulled out a beaded bracelet tied with a purple ribbon.

“I made it myself. Do you like it?”

“It’s very pretty. I left your present under the tree. I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Gutierrez smiled. “We can drop it off tomorrow morning before we drive to Abuelita’s. Is that okay, Derek?”

“Absolutely, we’ll probably be up at the crack of dawn anyway. Merry Christmas.”

“To you as well, and welcome to the neighborhood, Stiles.” Mr. Gutierrez shook their hands.

Soon, all that remained in the house, were family as well as Erica and Boyd, who Derek firmly considered family. Stiles ushered everyone into the living room, where the fire had made the room nice and cozy. “I think it’s time we all open presents. Does anyone need anything to drink before we start?”

Derek ducked into the kitchen to retrieve the champagne as several people indicated they would like some. “Kira? Did you want any?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“That’s right. I forgot you’re driving.”

“Actually,” Scott said, standing, “we wanted to make an announcement. Um...Kira’s pregnant.”

Melissa’s gleeful shriek filled the room, and she was across the room in a split second to crush Scott in a hug, and gave a much lighter one to her daughter-in-law. “I’m so happy for you. When are you due?”

“July 18th.”

Everyone took turns congratulating the pair before Stiles passed out the gifts. Stephen, Derek found, was probably the only kid on the planet who actually loved getting clothes.

“Are those the right size?” Melissa asked. “Stiles said 7/8 for dresses and tops, and shoes were an eight.”

“Yeah. They’ll fit him soon.”

“They’re so pretty. Look at my new headbands!” He received books from Aggie and Mike, which he loved, and a trip to Build a Bear from Auntie Erica and Uncle Boyd.

“Here you go, Buddy.” Derek passed him a couple of boxes.

“Open the one from me first.”

Stephen quickly tore away the paper from Stiles’ present. “What is this?” He pulled the garment from the box. “Is it a coat?”

“Kind of,” Stiles said of the hand-painted smock, “you wear it when you paint to keep your clothes clean. Do you like it?”

“Did you paint this?” Stephen ran his hands over the forest scene on the smock.

“Yep, but there’s something else in the box too.” Stiles waited for Stephen to open the envelope before explaining it. “It’s a painting class. You said you wanted to learn to paint like artists do. This class is just for kids”

Stephen grinned. “Thank you, Stiles. I love it.” Then, he turned his attention to the box from his dad, making short work of the paper. “Oh my gosh! Where did you find one?” He practically jumped into Derek’s lap.

“I know a very special elf.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” He hugged him tightly. “He looks like me! He even wears dresses!”

“Sure does.” Stephen did not get out of Derek’s lap, just sat there, clutching the doll to his chest tightly.

One by one, the group opened their presents from Stephen. “Did you make all of these yourself?” Aggie asked as her husband tied the bracelet around her wrist. She did the same for Mike.

“Yep. I made the pictures for everyone, and the bowl for Mr. Slinksi. Stiles said you’re always losing  your keys. Now you have a place to put them.”

John laughed. “That I do.”

Stiles passed out envelopes to all the couples. “So um, these aren’t handmade, but lots of thought went into planning them. We thought you all would like weekend getaways. Dziadek and Babcia, we made sure to pick places near Boston for you, so the drive isn’t that far.”

“Thank you, Łajek.” Aggie kissed his forehead.

When it came time for Stiles and Derek to open presents, they laughed to find Erica and Boyd had bought them a couples spa day and volunteered a weekend of babysitting. That would definitely be put to good use.

Derek let Stiles unwrap the present from Scott and Kira. They both stared at the gorgeous photograph in an equally impressive frame. Somehow, without either of them noticing, Kira had managed to snap a photo of them kissing during the fireworks show on Fourth of July and printed it out to poster size. “Wow...this… is beautiful.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way the colors reflected off their faces.

“Thank you.” Derek knew just where to hang it. He’d wanted to replace the cheap piece of ‘art’ that had been hanging above the headboard for several years.

Stiles handed him his gift. “It’s...not much, but I was...well just open it.” He cursed himself. With all these wonderful gifts, his would look silly in comparison. When Derek pulled the black ceramic travel mug from the box, he felt he should explain it, but Derek spoke first.

“Did you paint this too ?” He asked, tracing his fingers over the beautifully rendered fox and wolf curled up under a night sky.

“Yeah, I can ex-”

“I get it.” He smiled. Stiles always called him a big puppy, knew his favorite animal was a wolf and that Stiles loved foxes because they’d been his mother’s favorite. “I love it.” He kissed his forehead.

"So glad to hear that. I was worried." Stiles took the small box in his hand and read the tag; this, whatever it was, came from his Dad and Melissa as well as his grandparents. He gave the box a little shake and heard something slide around inside the box with a slight metallic clang. _Tell me they didn’t_ … He tore open the paper and removed the lid. Inside, he found a set of car keys. _They did._

“Before you say we shouldn’t have,” John said, “your grandparents called me in August and asked if I thought your car would last much longer. They said they wanted to buy you a replacement as a graduation gift.”

Stiles opened his mouth and closed it a few times, trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t sound ungrateful. That wasn’t it at all. Of course he appreciated the gift. He knew they wanted to give him a nice gift and had given him something he needed after all, but a whole car? They bought him a car. Not a down payment, not offering to pay for half or cosign the car loan while Stiles was responsible for the payment, but the whole car. He...hadn’t come from a family with money. They did okay, but this was too much.

His grandfather broke the silence. “Now, Łajek, you know us, we bought you a hybrid. So, it’s better for the environment, but given where you live, it’s an SUV and all wheel drive.”

Finally, his brain to mouth connection started working again. “You all didn’t need to do this for me. I would have figured something out.”

“Nonsense, you’re our only grandchild and grandparents are supposed to spoil you. Well, your mother never let us do that. Getting your Master’s Degree is a big accomplishment. You deserve something nice, but in this case it was also a necessity. That Jeep of your mother’s you were driving was not safe, not for you, not for anyone. You’re just like Claudia was when it came to gifts.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “I guess you’re right, Dziadek; I am. Thank you all.”

“Now open the present from Derek so we can go see the car. I want to show you what I picked out.” Aggie said, glee in her voice.

Derek’s gift sat in his lap, and briefly, he wondered if it was the kind of thing that was appropriate to open in front of others. Then again, he supposed, it had to be or Derek wouldn’t have handed to him.

When all the paper had been torn away and the lid removed, he stared in shock at the gift. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, and he he had to cover his mouth to stifle a sob. “How… how did… Did you paint this?”

“No, God no. That would have looked like garbage. Your grandma did. I called her after the original one broke to see if she could help me get you another one.”

Stiles pulled the matrushka from the box, turning it over and over in his hands. It looked almost exactly the same as the first one, minor differences here and there, but attributed those to artist differences. With shaky legs, he stood and walked to the mantle. He doubted his grandma would have been able to find one to fit perfectly inside the one before it. To his surprise, it fit just fine, a little smaller than the original, but still big enough to hold the center piece. He couldn’t believe it. “It looks almost the same. Babcia, how did you do this?” He asked, his voice thick with emotion and unshed tears

“My dear little Łajek, I was there when we painted the original ones, have copies of the pictures from that day.”

“Um...there’s some more in the box, Stiles.” Derek said.

Stiles sat back down and moved away the layers of tissue paper and found the rest of his gift. There was a new set of dolls, with only the three largest painted. The other three remained blank. She’d painted one to represent herself, another for his mom, and one of him--much older than the child he was in the set his mother owned. The rest...well those were for… He wiped his eyes. “I, uh, I need a minute.” He set down the box as if were the most precious thing in the world and sought out refuge of the front steps, letting the tears stream down his face.

After a few minutes, heard the door open, and Aggie sat down next to him.

“Derek really called you about the broken one?”

She placed an arm around his shoulders. “Yes.”

“And the new set?”

“That was my idea, but I thought it was a good time to give you one to carry on the tradition with.”

“Why?” He leaned his head on her shoulder.

She kissed the top of his head. “You hold onto that one, Łajek. To find someone who looks at you the way Derek does is rare.”

“Yeah? And how does he look at me?” He sniffled.

“Like you hung the moon. He wants you to be permanent in his life. You can see it.”

He scoffed.

“No, don’t laugh. Sometimes men are complicated.”

“Did you forget, Babciu, that _I’m_ a man too?”

She laughed. “No, of course not. Sometimes, they are slow to make a decision involving their hearts. It takes them a while on something like that. In this case, though, I understand. He has the boy to worry about.”

“Yeah. Stevie did his Christmas project on Poland. We made a pająki and piernicki. Just like Mom and I used to.” He smiled.

“It’s amazing.”

“What is?”

“The change in you over just a year. You look so much happier.”

“Well you didn’t see me the night Stevie dropped the matrushka. You’d have laughed at how silly I was, crying in the kitchen.”

“I doubt that very much. That doll was a symbol for your mother. If my doll of Claudia had broken, I'd be beside myself. Look Łajek, just because I am an old hippie who does not believe in religion or similar institutions, does not mean I do not believe in traditions. They are important, especially when you are an immigrant. You need to preserve your cultural heritage. That is why I made you a set of six. The three of us: you, your matka, and me, plus three blank ones for you to paint when you have a child of your own, and they can paint one with their child. Or, if things continue to progress the way I see them going, you paint one with little Stephan. If you have more than one child, you paint one of them. I have four sets of my own, and someday they’ll be yours. It is a tradition we have going for eight generations now. That’s not something you let die because of a child’s accident.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Come now. Let’s go back inside so we call all say our good-byes. I think your dziadek is going to fall asleep in the chair if we don’t leave soon.”

 

*    *   *   *   *

 

Later, when everyone had left and only Derek and Stiles remained awake, they finished the clean up and retreated upstairs. The door to their bedroom had barely been closed five seconds before Stiles took Derek’s face in his hands and poured everything he had into the kiss. It sent Derek’s mind reeling. Such a simple thing, a kiss, but in it, he could feel a thousand unspoken words. To say it took his breath away was cliché, but totally true in this case.

He couldn’t breathe for all the feeling behind those lips.

Stiles must have felt the same way, and he buried his head in Derek’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“It was not-”

Once more, Stiles took Derek’s face in his hands. “No. Thank you. You don’t, you don’t understand what that meant to me. Don’t downplay it as nothing. It was perfect.”

“I did it, because I love you.”

Earlier in the evening, Derek might have wanted nothing more than to get Stiles out of those fancy clothes and devolve into frenzied passion and tangled limbs. Now though, he just wanted to savor. Languid kisses with no sense of urgency, lingered for, fuck if he knew-- they could have been standing there for hours, content in the feel of the other’s lips against his own for all Derek knew.

Eventually, off came the ties, then Derek’s vest. Next came the belt and suspenders. They shed their clothes one article at a time as though they were stripping away layers of skin to get at everything inside.

By the time they fell into bed, Derek felt as though he’d been laid bare. Stiles had been taking him apart piece by piece for almost a year, putting him back together in the most delicious way so that he finally resembled the man he could have, probably would have been if the fire had never happened. But the fire did happen, and with it, stripped him of his self-worth and hope. He was happy now, almost carefree, the kind of man he should have been all along, the kind he’d tried so hard to be for his son but could never quite achieve.

Stiles had done that, become that piece to fill the empty space his family's loss had left in his heart. He wasn't perfect, no one would ever be the right shape to fill that hole, but he was as close to a perfect fit Derek would ever find.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me over at tumblr. I don't bite  
> captaintinymite.tumblr.com


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